


Unexpected

by autumnyte



Series: Boss Moshe Hazzan [3]
Category: Saints Row
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Canonical Character Death, Drunkenness, Embarrassment, Humor, M/M, Nudity, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 04:11:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2136543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/pseuds/autumnyte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some pre-relationship Moshe/Troy: a few days after the events of 'Bleeding Out', Moshe is crashing and Troy gets a surprise eyeful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chyrstis for the prompt that inspired this, and for checking it over for me.

Troy knew who was at his front door the instant he heard the doorbell ring, but he looked through the peephole out of habit. He could make out a shock of purple hair, and that was all the confirmation he needed. He opened the door slowly, causing Moshe, who’d been leaning against it, to stumble gracelessly inside. With him came a strong, unmistakable whiff of both whisky and beer.

"Christ. You smell like a distillery went out and fucked a brewery." Troy frowned and placed a hand on Moshe's shoulder. "Thought I told you to call me when visiting hours ended. What happened?"

"Troooy," Moshe slurred, taking a lurching step forward. "Yer not the bossss of me." He jabbed a finger against Troy’s chest and laughed, but it transformed into a choked-off sob.

Troy asked softly, “Johnny wake up yet?”

Moshe shook his head and began to cry in earnest. He threw himself into Troy’s arms, slumped against him, and let out heavy, full-body sobs that sent pangs of sympathy straight through Troy. It made him wish he could say something--anything--but he knew no words could comfort right now. Not with Aisha gone and Johnny barely hanging on.

All he could do was hold Moshe tightly, supporting him with both arms and not letting go.

After a few minutes, Moshe pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Troy glanced around the room. “Hang on… let me see if I can find you a Kleenex or some—”

"No. Don’t g-go," Moshe said, reaching up to touch Troy’s cheek. Fixing him with sad eyes, he brushed a thumb along Troy’s jaw.

Troy swallowed, his face suffusing with heat. His skin prickled in a way that he knew was wholly unrelated to the deep sympathy he felt for his friend. And it wasn’t the first time he had experienced such a sensation around Moshe. But as always, he shoved the feeling—and the question of what it might mean—as far to the back of his mind as he could.

Moshe’s eyelids fluttered, and he swayed like he was about to fall over. Troy braced him. “Shit, you’re wasted. You gotta sleep this off. Crash here again tonight,” he said. It was a direction, not a request.

"Cowshow," he mumbled, and it wasn’t until he gestured at the sofa that Troy figured out he was trying to say "couch, though".

"Mo, take the bed again. I don’t mind sleeping on the couch."

This would make the third night in a row that Moshe had stayed over—every night, since the incident. And though Troy’s back was a bit sore, it was a price he was more than willing to pay if it meant helping Moshe get a few hours of sleep.

But Moshe folded his arms stubbornly across his chest. “Nope. Cowsh.”

Troy sighed. “All right, I’m gonna get you a glass of water and some blankets.” He guided Moshe to an armchair and sat him down, then reached for the cigarettes and lighter on his coffee table. Ordinarily, he would have offered Moshe one too, but in the guy’s current state, he was afraid of the place going up in flames.

After lighting it and taking a deep drag, he balanced the cigarette between his lips as he shuffled around—first to the linen closet to grab a bedsheet and blanket, then into the kitchen to get Moshe a tall glass of water. When he returned to the living room, Moshe looked to be just about passed out already. Troy tucked the bedsheet into the couch cushions and tossed a pillow down on top of it.

"Wanna borrow something to sleep in?" Troy asked, fully anticipating Moshe would turn down the offer as usual.

"Naaah." Moshe shook his head.

Troy shrugged and took a final puff of his cigarette before crushing it in the ashtray. “Suit yourself. Don’t know how you can stand to sleep in those jeans.”

Moshe snorted inexplicably, and his head fell back against the chair. Troy felt another jab in his chest. In all the years they’d known each other, he’d never seen Moshe in this sort of shape. Not after Lin. Not even after Julius.

"You need anything else?" Troy hovered beside the chair, debating whether to give him some space or stay.

"Youken go," Moshe said, waving him off with a half-smile. "Sleeeep."

Troy put his hand on Moshe’s shoulder and squeezed. “You think of something you need, you know where to find me.”

Moshe nodded.

"And drink that fucking water, or you’ll be sorry tomorrow," Troy added firmly, before heading off to his room. He left the door open, just in case.

_________________________________

When Troy woke the next morning, he couldn’t make out any sounds coming from the next room. He stood, ran fingers through his bed head, smoothed out his rumpled t-shirt and pajama bottoms, then ventured out to see whether Moshe was still passed out or had woken up early and taken off.

Troy typically prided himself on always being prepared, on bracing for every potential scenario in any given situation. But he hadn't even remotely accounted for the possibility of what he found when he stepped into that living room.

Moshe was awake and lying on the couch, massaging circles against his temples—completely, utterly naked.

In the seemingly-eternal moment it took for Troy’s reflexes to kick in, he was unable to tear his gaze away. His eyes landed immediately on Moshe’s hard, muscular thighs and what was nestled between them, before drifting higher, taking in the defined cut of his chest and abdomen and the dusting of dark hair covering both. There were also tiny white scars visible against Moshe’s brown skin, but before Troy had a chance to give them more than a cursory glance, his brain caught up and he spun around, covering his eyes.

"Jesus fucking  _Christ_!”

"Bloody hell," Moshe said, and had the good sense to sound at least a fraction as embarrassed as Troy felt. "Um… don’t suppose you know where my clothes got off to."

"Wait, you… lost your clothes?" Troy asked, his voice cracking slightly. He could feel himself flushing from his neck to his forehead, and although he was now looking away, the image of what he’d seen was emblazoned in his mind.

"Yeah, mate. Don’t recall taking ‘em off, and I don’t see them about."

Troy heard movement and rustling, and assumed Moshe was covering up with the blanket or sheet. He gave it a few minutes before cautiously turning around again, only to find Moshe—still naked as a jaybird—down on his hands and knees searching under the sofa. Getting a peek at that firm, round ass sent Troy whirling around again, blushing more deeply than he would have thought possible. “For fuck’s sake! At least cover up with the blanket or something.”

“Right. Solid plan, that.” Moshe cleared his throat. “Only, I um… I dunno what happened to the blanket, either."

"How the hell did you manage to make every stitch of your clothes along with a king-size blanket just vanish?" Troy pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a feeling he might laugh about this one day, but not today.

Moshe sighed. “Thing is… I always sleep in the buff. I have the past few nights as well… just got dressed before I came out. But I was so shitfaced last night, I reckon I didn’t think through whatever I did with them. Maybe they’re in the loo?”

Somehow, the knowledge that Moshe had been naked in his bed the previous two nights made the heat in Troy’s face begin to creep lower. He took a deep breath in an attempt to clear his mind. “I need a fucking smoke.”

"Oi, the sheet’s still here at least." There was some more rustling, and then Moshe said, "You can turn around now. I’m as decent as I can be."

Troy turned and took in the sight of his plum-colored fitted bed sheet wrapped around Moshe like a toga. He stored that image away for whenever he was able to laugh about this, at some future date. “You, uh, planning to take a shower?”

"Yeah, if it’s alright." Moshe was staring at the floor. His face looked forlorn, and Troy could tell that despite the current predicament, his mind had already drifted back to Aisha and Johnny.

"It’s fine," Troy replied. "Check the bathroom and let me know if the stuff’s there. If it’s not… I’ll loan you something to wear home."

"I was planning to go back to the hospital, actually," he answered, finally meeting Troy’s eyes.

Troy nodded, and briefly, the vivid mental picture of Moshe’s nudity and the fact that he was wrapped up in a bed sheet fell by the wayside. “Let me come with you this time. I’ll sit in the waiting area.”

Moshe said, “I’m planning to be there a while, though.”

"Fine," Troy answered. "I got some paperwork I can bring to do."

“And after, I’m gonna go fuck up as many bloody Ronin as I can get my hands on.”

Troy had expected as much. “Yeah. I’m down for that too.”

Moshe shot him a look of gratitude before shuffling off to the bathroom. Once inside, he called out, “My stuff ain’t here. What'd’ya reckon?”

"I’ll dig up something you can borrow." Troy was already headed back to his room, where he began sorting through polo shirts and older pairs of jeans he thought would fit Moshe. He selected the most likely candidates and brought them to the bathroom, knocking on the door frame, since Moshe was in the shower and had left the door wide open.

"Got something for me?" Moshe asked, popping his wet head out from behind the shower curtain.

Troy held up the folded clothes and set them down by the sink. “Didn’t figure you’d, uh, want to borrow my underpants. So, you’re on your own there.”

"Cheers. Thanks, mate." Moshe hesitated before adding quietly, "For everything."

"Anytime," Troy answered, turning to leave.

"Troy?"

"Yeah?"

Moshe’s expression was halfway between awkward and apologetic. “I’m sorry about, uh, you know… accidentally flashing the goods and all.”

"Hey, forget about it," Troy muttered. "I already have." He lied through his teeth as he pictured the entire thing afresh, felt his face go crimson, and scrambled off in search of a cigarette--maybe two.


End file.
